Memories are Made of This
by tearsofamiko
Summary: Somehow, he knows she’s not really dancing with him at all. ONE-SHOT


Title: Memories are Made of This

Author: Tearsofamiko

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I own nothing about the White Collar series, its characters or plotlines. Why rub it in?

Spoilers: Nah

Summary: Somehow, he knows she's not really dancing with him at all.

A/N: Inspired by and uses Dean Martin's lovely song _Memories Are Made of This_ (which I also don't own). :) I also drew (very!) lightly from Lilly McShepin's wonderful little story _Empty Suits_; nothing big, just needed an idea.

**This story is complete.**

.:::.

A small frown draws his eyebrows together as he pushes open the door and hears the music. It echoes slightly through the spaces of the house, caressing the artwork and sighing in across the hardwood floors as it draws him away from the staircase and deeper into the downstairs. He peeks into darkened rooms and around corners as he seeks out the source, a small curious smile surfacing as the song restarts after a brief pause, the hiss-crackle of an old record filling the silence.

"_Sweet, sweet memories you gave-a me, you can't beat the memories you gave-a me--"_

She's sitting alone by herself in a cozy little study, wrapped in an old angora shawl with a bottle of fine red wine and a glass on the coffee table in front of her. A small lamp in the corner lights the wistful, poignant expression on her face and he feels his heart break a little at the tender sadness in her eyes. The sweet emotion in the scene makes it hard to breathe and a tingle crosses the palms of his hands; he's struck by the same feeling that led to a small cache of priceless paintings tucked away in a discrete corner of the world.

He blinks and swallows at the ache in his throat, becoming aware of her bright, warm eyes focused on him from across the room. He doesn't say a word as he steps through the doorway and stands by the couch, a fond smile tugging his lips as the song starts again and he reaches out a hand. She watches him for a verse, long enough that he fears he's overstepped some boundary and intruded where he was not only unwanted, but painful. Just as he's about to retreat as silently as he approached, he feels her hand slide into his.

"_Don't forget a small moon-beam, fold in lightly with a dream, your lips and mine, two sips of wine, memories are made of this--"_

He pulls her gently into his arms, holding her close as the music plays. Her cheek rests against his shoulder and her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and, somehow, he knows she's not really dancing with him at all. They sway slowly, hardly moving despite the music's tempo, and he closes his eyes at the rush of emotion as he leans his chin against her hair and feels the way she relaxes against him.

They dance quietly as the song plays once more, twice, over and over. Somewhere deep in the house, a clock softly tolls the hour, though neither notices the melodic chime as it underlies the music. There's no discomfort, no awkwardness to clash with the gentle melody filling the air, just the comfort of two friends and the warmth of memories. Moonlight dances a counterpart across the floor as time passes and the music plays.

"_Stir carefully through the days, see how the flavor stays, these are the dreams you will savor--"_

There are no questions or explanations, no words at all as he holds her close and she clings to his warmth. The quiet affection touches something deep in both of them, soothing the broken spaces and scattered emotions. It doesn't matter why or who, as the song plays and the night crawls by, just that she's not alone in the sad silence of the house and he's not haunted by the emptiness of a memory.

"_One man, one wife, one love through life, memories are made of this--"_

One tear slips down her cheek to dampen his shirt as she buries her face in his chest. He makes no comment, tightening his arms around her as a small shudder runs through her and her fingers clutch at him. She takes a deep breath and sighs against his shoulder, relaxing again though her grip doesn't loosen. She sounds tired and sad as she speaks quietly, her voice barely audible above the music.

"It's my anniversary today."

He nods against her hair and doesn't let go as she leans on his strength and holds the past close.

"_Memories are made of this."_


End file.
